209
by x-LaissezLesBonTempsRouler-x
Summary: Rosalie got pregnant, her mom moved her across country, she had her baby without the dad, and now he's at her front door. 209 days, 775 miles, and now 7 minutes and 5 seconds. She wants him in their baby's life, her mom would be glad if he forgot about it. Her mom wants total control, and she's not going to let her. It's her baby not her mom's, it's time to stand up and say move.


Five thousand, six hundred and eight-nine miles. That is the exact amount of miles between here and there. Between him and me, that was between us, until I opened my door this morning.

"Hi." he said, he had found us, Emmett McCarty had found me and in my head all I could think was five thousand, six hundred and eighty-nine miles, over and over it passed through my head and it was my only thought. He had come that far, showing up on my doorstep at ten in the morning mid-summer. It had been exactly two hundred and nine days since I last saw him. Since I had to say goodbye with a big belly and a face full of tears.

Mom put her hands on my shoulder to tell me she was there. "Hello." She was being polite, she hates him.

"Hello Mrs. Hale." He was being polite, he hates her.

I was silent. The baby began wailing in the front room, lying wrapped in a blanket in her play pin. He looked in the direction, the first thing he's ever heard come from his daughter's lips. Sixty-nine days old, nine weeks six days old.

I move to get her, Mom stops me. "I'll go take her to the kitchen and feed her." I'm about a hundred percent sure I'm the only one in this house with the ability to feed her, and my breasts are so full of milk I wonder why the hell she would say something like that.

"Mom." I say moving past her. She doesn't want him to see his daughter.

"Hi baby." I pick up my daughter, Mom yells after me, "Rosalie!" She's getting desperate. The door slams as I enter the foyer.

"Rosalie! You know how I feel about that boy! What is he doing here? I don't want him around my grandbaby! Rosalie, give me the baby and make him go away before I call the cops!" She's beyond pissed. Three hundred and twelve days since she's gotten this mad. The day I found out I was pregnant. One week and two days after my missed period.

"Mom. It's his daughter." I move to open the door. She throws her body on the door and glares at me.

"I don't care if it's his daughter or not! She is my granddaughter! She's mine! Mine!" She starts to cry.

"No. She's mine. Move." sixty-nine days since I talked to her like this. The day my baby was born.

"Rosalie, if you loved me as much as you should you'd forget all about him. I moved us here for a fresh start, why can't you get a boyfriend here? A nice boy with a safe car and nice parents. He doesn't have parents Rosalie! He rides a motorcycle! How can you drive your baby around on a motorcycle?" she thinks she's won.

"Mom, if you loved your grandbaby you'd move. You say he's not good enough because he doesn't have parents, well guess what, you taking him away from his daughter means she won't either!" I haven't yelled like this for two hundred thirty days, the day Mom decided he wasn't good enough to be my baby's father despite the fact she's half him, despite the fact she has his eyes, his lips, his DNA. The day she said we were moving.

"Rosalie, why can't you understand? I want the best for her, and he's not it. What does he got to offer her?" My angel is still wailing. I need to feed her. It's been exactly four hours and thirty-two minutes since she's been fed. Mom said she was fine; she doesn't need to get fat. She's a baby, she needs to be fat. I pull out a heavy and sore breast for her. She gladly latches on and the relief is nearly instant.

"Her biological father, she's his Mom, not yours." She still doesn't move.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't feed her yet!" She doesn't move off the door yet. I'm not going to starve her because Mom is already worried about her weight.

"I will feed her when I decide to feed her!" I yell at her. She's making me mad.

"You don't want a fat baby do you?" she looks truly concerned.

"Baby's are supposed to be fat, now move!" I switch breasts and relieve the other.

"I'm just worried about her weight is all. I don't want her to be fat when she's older… I made that mistake once already. I thought I was supposed to feed you all the time…" She calls me fat.

"I was never fat Mom. Just because I wasn't a stick doesn't mean I'm fat, and I just had a baby." The baby unlatches content and full. I cover myself and return to the front room to put her down for a nap.

I return and Mom runs to the front room to hide her, knowing I'm going to let him in. "Don't you touch my baby!" I yell and turn back. How dare her!

"Rosalie! Please!" Mom picks up my baby and she starts to wail, she was comfortable. I put her in her favourite position, the one that makes her fall asleep the fastest.

"Mom! Give me my baby before I call the cops on you!" I've never called the cops before. Maybe once as a prank when I was in seventh grade, but nothing for real.

"Rosalie! Please! Don't do this!" she starts to cry. Her crying and my angel's wailing give me a headache. It's been seven minutes and five seconds since Mom slammed the door in Emmett's face. I know he's still standing there, listening to everything that's going on. The window next to the door is open; I can feel a hot breeze moving around the house.

"Give me my baby! Did you give birth to her? Did you carry her around for two-hundred and eighty days? No! Give her here; she is mine, not yours!" I stand my ground.

"If I give you the baby, then I'm calling the cops on him! Sometimes I think it would be better if you gave me custody of the baby, I could raise her so much better than you could, you don't know what you're doing, you don't know how to be a parent, you're too young!" I pick up the phone on the end-table next to the couch.

I dial the numbers, ready to hit call. "Fine!" I drop the phone and reach for my baby. Mom let's me have her and walks down the hall to go cry in her room. I go to the front door.

He's still here. He looks between me and his daughter, I hold her out to him and he cries. Tears trail down his cheeks, a moan slowly comes from his lips. I cry to, sixty-nine days since I cried, the moment I saw my baby for the first time.

"Hi." he says is lightly, staring down at her like god himself kissed him on the cheek. "What's her name?" he asks.

Mom wanted to name her Isabella, but he and I had already chosen a name, long before it was really time to start even thinking about names. It was okay though, because now she has the name we both chose.

"Tanya." He smiles through his tears. It's the best day of his life.

"Tanya…Hi Tanya," he whispers, "Hi, I'm your dad." he brushes back her fluff of blonde hair, like mine. He lifts her to his face and kisses her cheek. She's fallen asleep in his arms. He cries into her plump belly.

Two-hundred and nine days since I saw him cry, the day I left with his baby inside me.


End file.
